


Vogler

by MrProphet



Series: Demiurge [2]
Category: Return to Castle Wolfenstein, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 12:05:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10719009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrProphet/pseuds/MrProphet
Summary: Heinrich der Vogler (876-936) was Duke of Saxony (912-936) and King of Germany (919-936) and the founder of the mediaeval German Empire. Der Vogler means 'the fowler'; according to legend, Heinrich, a keen huntsman, was trapping birds when word came that the late King had declared him heir to the Crown of Germany.His son, Otto the Great (912-973), succeeded as Duke and King in 936 and was – arguably – the first Holy Roman Emperor (from 962). Otto's first wife, Edith of Wessex (910-946), was the granddaughter of Alfred the Great and, while Otto was eventually succeeded by his son by a second marriage, he was buried beside Edith at the cathedral of Magdeburg when he died.Heinrich died of old age and did not disappear in a final battle in 936, only to reappear in 941 as the unholy commander of a legion of the damned, but while frequently more interesting than fiction, in this case, history would get in the way of my story.





	Vogler

_Saxony – AD 943_

Otto von Sachsen gazed out from the battlements of his castle and felt despair grip his soul. Just seven years ago they had crowned him in Aachen as Otto the Great, King of the Germans. His father, Heinrich, had fought long and hard to bring the dissenting duchies under his rule, but it was only in death that he had achieved his goal and finally brought all of the German states together. By giving his life in final battle against an enemy more terrible than any Magyar, Heinrich had assured the absolute dominance of his dynasty.

His body was never found, but an old man could not have survived in battle against an unholy horde of pagan bandits and so he was celebrated as a dead hero. In fact, Heinrich had not died, but it was to be some time before anyone knew that.

For five years, Otto had laboured to secure his position. He had repelled ducal revolts and endured assassination attempts by bishops and even his younger brother, Henry. Henry had fled to France, perhaps learning from the example of their elder half-brother, Thankmar, whose rebellion had ended in his own death. It was a hard road, but at last Otto had been accepted by all the great powers of his kingdom – Saxon and Franconian, Swabian and Bavarian – and was even reconciled with Henry. All had seemed well until the day, two years before, when the world turned upside down.

 

_It had been a day much like this one, with storm clouds gathered in the sky so thick that day became night beneath their pall. Otto's court had been gathered at Aachen for the feast of All Souls and they were glad indeed to be sheltered from the rain. The fires burned in the hearths and the hall was brightly lit by many torches. The smell of roasting meat and new-baked bread filled the air and Otto sat with his wife, Edith, and presided over the festivities with a glad heart._

_In the midst of the celebrations, however, the doors of the hall were flung wide, although no man could be seen beyond them. A cold wind swept in and all the torches and candles blew out at once. The fires burned low and the air within the room grew chill. The music died and the merrymakers fell silent. At once the servants hurried with tapers to relight the candles, but then a flash of lightning split the darkness._

_In that momentary burst of light, Otto saw a sight that he would never forget. Eight figures stood in the door of his hall. Six of the figures were tall and strong; they wore the armour of German knights and bore drawn swords in their hands. Their eyes burned like glowing coals behind their visors and their rain-drenched mail shimmered. At the far left stood an incongruous figure, slim and delicate, a sodden cloak thrown back from a fine, black gown. Otto barely saw these, however, for his eyes were fixed upon the man who stood at the centre of the group, beneath the crown of the arched doorway._

_The man was more than six feet tall and his long, ragged cloak swirled around a powerful frame. His hair was long and dark and his deeply-sunken eyes burned with an infernal fire. His face was pale and twisted with rage and madness, yet there remained the traces of a great nobility there. He wore a suit of once-fine mail that had been torn in battle and a patched surcoat bearing the emblem of an eagle. He stepped forward, and in that arrogant stride Otto knew his father, Heinrich the Fowler._

 

The rain fell heavily across the field before Castle Wolfenstein and churned the ground to muddy pools. Otto's heavy cloak clung oppressively to his body and his soul seemed to sink beneath the weight of it.

At the distance of twice an arrow's flight, he could just make out the lights of Heinrich's camp, his sorcerous fires burning in spite of the wet. There were hundreds of campfires, each shared by half-a-dozen men and more would arrive before sunset. Heinrich led an army of more than fifty-thousand men, every one of them, knight or footman, driven beyond mere human strength by their terror of Heinrich's wrath. They were well-equipped and provisioned, having plundered all the lands they had conquered.

Behind Otto, in the bailey of the castle, huddled all that remained of the pride of Germany's dukedoms. A mere two-thousand knights and six-thousand footmen, frightened, cold and hungry, now packed into a single castle; the last castle still in Otto's authority. This was all that had survived Heinrich's campaign of terror, these few and those who had been able to flee from the path of his army. The chances of victory at Castle Wolfenstein were slim, but even if Heinrich could be defeated, rebuilding Germany would be the work of decades.

"Why?" he sighed, hopelessly. "Why should we trouble to fight when all that waits for us is death?"

"Because the alternative is too terrible to contemplate."

Otto turned to face the cowled figure who stood close at hand.

 

_Panic broke out among the guests. Many fled blindly from these sinister intruders, running pell-mell for the kitchen doors and the drawing room passage behind the high table. A few scrambled for the main doors, only to be ruthlessly struck down by Heinrich's knights. Baron von Sternburg came closest to making his escape that way, but the woman stepped forward and thrust a blade into his stomach with enough force to lift him from his feet._

_Only a few of the assembled knights and lords stood their ground, moving to flank their king and drawing their swords. Beside them, a handful of bold servants took up carving knives and spits to protect their lord. Otto did not draw his own blade, but he rose to his feet. Of the ladies in the hall, only one did not flee. The granddaughter of the Great Alfred would not disgrace her heritage; Edith rose beside her husband, her eating knife clasped in her hand._

_Heinrich strode on. "You sit on a stolen throne, boy!" he declared._

_"Father?" Otto asked._

_Heinrich stopped. "Iblis," he said._

_At first his words seemed nonsensical, but the woman stepped forward and raised a slender hand. A line of bright fire flashed from her fingers; it caught a torch and it burst into flame. She passed her hand along either side of the hall, igniting brand after brand. Somehow, the red-golden light did not have the same cheer it had possessed before._

_"Merciful saints protect us," Edith whispered, lapsing into the Anglian tongue._

_Otto's eyes widened in terror. "My God," he gasped._

_Heinrich stepped forward again. His face was beyond ashen, it was almost blue-grey in colour, like that of a three day old corpse. His eyes were sunk in shadows that the flames of the torches did not touch, but that fierce, infernal light remained. The face was that of his father, but it was also the face of a dead man._

 

"I did not hear you approach, Simeon," Otto remarked.

The man in the cowled robe approached the King. He looked like a mendicant monk, with his travel-stained habit and tall staff, but Otto knew him to be far more than he seemed. During their short association, he had seen Simeon prove himself warrior, scholar, healer and sorcerer. He might still have been a priest, but if so he was a poor one; he rarely attended mass and his relationship with one of the serving girls was not of a kind sanctioned by the Holy Father.

"You can not be considering surrender," Simeon pressed.

"We can not prevail, Simeon," Otto sighed.

"We can," Simeon insisted. "We must."

"Look!" Otto exploded, angrily throwing his arm out to gesture towards the enemy camp. "Heinrich's army grows by the day. Knights corrupted by his threats and promises; fyrdmen roused from their fields and forced into battle on their families' lives; peasants armed with spears and driven into battle with whips! Mercenaries. Northmen, Danes and Scots. All of them, fuelled by whatever unholy power drives my father beyond his rightful grave. My forces are exhausted, Simeon. If we stay here and fight, we shall die; if we run, some might live."

"None shall live!" Simeon said, firmly. "You are correct to say that the power that drives Heinrich is unholy; he will not be satisfied until all the world lies in ruin and damnation at his feet."

"I sometimes fear that it is my alliance with you that has damned my kingdom," Otto retorted. "Heinrich is not the only one with unholy power!"

Simeon's eyes blazed with white light and his voice took on the timbre of thunder. " _Then believe that I know of which I speak, Otto von Saxony!_ "

Otto took a step back in fear and his foot slipped on the wet stone. He fell backwards and tripped over the crenulations of the rampart; he would have fallen to his death if Simeon had not snapped out his hand and caught a fistful of Otto's mail shirt. With great strength, Simeon hauled Otto upright.

"And again you save my life, sorcerer," Otto said, flatly. "You must truly hate me to deny me that rest."

"Destiny calls and we must answer," Simeon said. "I did not choose my path any more than you chose yours, but we _must_ fight Heinrich now or his darkness will cover the Earth. His power will only grow if he is not stopped here."

"And if we fall?"

"We can but pray that we shall have bought the time for the Queen to gather an army to resist him."

Otto shook his head. "Woe, that I have seen the day when I must look to my wife to wage war for my failings."

Simeon smiled. "Do not think it beyond her," he counselled. "Your Queen is a remarkable woman."

 

_"Unholy thing!" Otto snarled, seized with anger that this abomination would come before him in his father's form. "Be gone from this place!"_

_The figure of Heinrich lowered his mailed fist to the hilt of his sword. "Insolent whelp," he growled. "Relinquish your throne to me or I shall sweep you aside." The heavy blade scraped free of its scabbard with a tortured scream._

_Otto drew his own sword. "I will never give way to such a blasphemous creature!" he declared._

_"Then so be it!"_

_Heinrich and his knights advanced, lifting their swords as they came. A wave of fear swept over Otto and his nobles, but Rudiger von Bischoff, a brave young knight whose wedding Otto had blessed the previous day, sprang to meet the enemy. His sword struck cleanly into the breast of one of the knights and the courage of the defenders soared, but then the knight lashed out and stove in Rudiger's skull with his blade._

_In that moment, Heinrich and his knights struck, blades cleaving through their unarmoured victims. The wounded knight was now faltering, but any chance of rallying the defence had gone. Panic took hold of all but a few brave souls and those were too few to stand against the power of these dark warriors._

_Heinrich himself came straight at Otto. He struck hard and Otto parried; the shock of the blow numbed his arm and he almost dropped his sword. Heinrich pressed the attack, savagely and drove Otto to his knees._

_"Pathetic," Heinrich snarled._

_The dead king lifted his sword for the coup de grace, but before the blow could fall another warrior sprang in front of Otto and thrust a burning torch into his face. He cried out and stumbled away; Otto's rescuer stepped back to his side as the King rose._

_"Edith?" he asked._

_"My Lord," she replied._

_Otto's heart leaped, but although many of the enemy knights had fallen, he and his Queen were now all-but alone._

_Heinrich looked at the royal couple and sneered. "You die together then," he laughed. "Many will envy you."_

_He swept his sword into a mighty swing, that Otto knew would fell both himself and his bride. Otto made to step forward, hoping that he might give his life for his beloved Queen, but a powerful hand caught his arm and thrust him backwards. A robed figure stepped past Otto and raised his hand in a seemingly futile gesture._

_Before Otto's astonished gaze, a wall of light sprang from the outstretched hand and flung Heinrich away._

_"You!" the woman, Iblis, cried._

_"Your Majesties," the newcomer called out, "you must flee! Go!"_

_Otto and Edith did not need to be told twice. They backed away to the drawing room passage, with the newcomer following, holding Heinrich at bay with his magic. At the door, he reached beneath his cloak with his right hand and produced a small metal globe. He thumbed a catch on the globe and rolled it into the great hall._

_"Run!" he commanded._

_They ran. Behind them, a massive burst of flame erupted into the corridor._

 

"So we fight?" Otto asked.

Simeon nodded his head.

"And can we expect any aid from your powers, this time?"

"As I have explained," Simeon said, patiently, "my powers require certain base materials. I have only a little left to give in that regard, but I hope that I can do something else to even the odds."

"What have you in mind?"

"This is his last push," Simeon explained. "He will bring the source of his power into the open at last."

*

While Otto looked out from the castle at the camp opposite, Heinrich stared back, the dark red fire of his eyes burning through the curtain of the rain. His closest knights stood behind him, their own eyes sunken and burning, their faces expressionless. The knights of the inner circle were all tall and powerful, but Heinrich dwarfed them all. Since his reappearance in Aachen, he had grown, his mortal flesh swelling with inhuman power, until he stood almost six-and-a-half feet tall, his armoured frame as broad as two lesser men.

"This is the last," Heinrich growled, his voice heavy with authority.

"We should crush it _now_ ," one of the knights declared.

"We should wait for them," another argued. "They _will_ come out to fight."

"The war machines will be ready by tomorrow evening," a third added.

Heinrich did not look around. "What do _you_ say, Iblis, my sweet."

Iblis emerged from the darkness, hips swishing provocatively beneath a black velvet gown – an effort largely wasted on the hollow-eyed knights – and took Heinrich's arm. The knights growled, softly, resenting her influence over their lord.

"Your knights will take care of the walls," she purred. "Their axes are hard and sharp enough to cleave through stone and their arms have the strength to drive them home."

Heinrich chuckled. "You are wise, dear Iblis," he said. "You have guided me well since my supposed death and now the last bastion of resistance will tumble before us."

"Not the last," Iblis replied. "Germany is only the beginning, my dark darling. Your army grows by the day. March on and the world will fall before you; stop and they will turn on you."

"Then where next?"

"The Franks," Iblis declared.

"Yes," he agreed.

"And then Anglia; an island fortress from which we…you can rule."

"Yes." Heinrich laid a hand on Iblis' arm and squeezed tightly.

"If you were to release the power of the Dragon to all of your army…" she began, but his hand tightened, almost convulsively, and she cried out in pain.

"You will not suggest that," he reminded her.

"My Lord…"

Heinrich growled, deep in his throat. "You have spoken of this before and I have told you: that blessing is only for the élite."

"But if you spread that power to your army…"

Heinrich swung around and hurled Iblis away from him. She hit one of the knights and knocked him down, then lay in a heap across his armoured chest.

"If I let that power loose I will have precious little to rule," he declared. "You know this, Iblis my darling. You forget that I am not some primitive fool to be dazzled by your beauty and charm and that _I_ command the power of the Ark. If you wish to share the power with the armies, why not reach into the Ark yourself, sweet Iblis?"

Iblis cast her eyes downwards. "I could not," she whispered. "It would consume me."

"Yes," he said with a superior laugh. "And do not forget _that_. You are immortal, Iblis," he reminded her. "You may sow the destruction that you so desire when I am finally gone, but in _my_ time, I shall rule and I shall have my pleasure from this world while it lasts." Heinrich reached down and hauled Iblis roughly to her feet. He left the knight to stand on his own.

He removed the mailed gauntlet from his right hand and stroked Iblis' face. His skin was grey and pallid, but his flesh was firm and it burned like a fever with the power that ran in his veins in place of blood. She felt that power as he touched her and a shudder of desire gripped her, a desire more for the power than for the man.

"Sharpen your axes and muster your forces," Heinrich ordered. "We gather at nightfall for the sacrament."

*

Otto had returned to his men, but Simeon still stood on the battlements of Castle Wolfenstein and surveyed the enemy camp. Where Otto had seen nothing but rain and a few distant lights, however, Simeon could see the entire camp in clear and magnified detail through an advanced viewing device that the casual observer might have called a crystal ball. As he slowly rotated the sphere its detectors swept the vista before him and presented an enhanced image in the surface closest to his eyes. By turning it in different ways, he directed it to increase magnification and shift the spectrum of the display.

While he worked, a maid came up from the bailey, bringing a meagre supper. She displayed no surprise at this display of uncanny power. "You should be wary, Simeon," she told him. "Most of the army know you well enough by now to say that your power is, if not holy, at least directed in our cause, but there are enough who would cry witch at the sight of that bauble."

Simeon passed a hand over the sphere and the surface dissolved to a plain, opalescent grey. He made another pass of his hand and the sphere vanished; to many people, that would have seemed as magical as the visions, but the maid knew the trick so well that she could see the lightning-swift movement that tipped the long-distance viewing scanner into the hidden pocket inside his cloak.

"You should not be here, Godeca," Simeon said.

"There's not a man in arrowshot of this wall, or you'd not be standing here," Godeca replied, tartly. She set the plate down on the wall beside him.

"You should not be in the castle," Simeon clarified. "I thought that you had left with the other servants."

The young woman reached out and touched his arm. "I would not leave you, Simeon," she told him, patiently, "even if I could. Eat your food," she added. "I had some difficulty finding you that much, but I knew that you would need your strength."

Simeon rounded on her, angrily. "I told you to go, Godeca! I wanted you safe!"

Godeca's eyes narrowed, dangerously. "What is there for me if I leave?" she demanded. "I would _die_ without you. If you die, I may as well die with you."

Simeon deflated, unable to argue with her. "Have you eaten?"

"A little," Godeca lied.

Simeon took the crust of stale bread and broke it in half. He handed one piece to Godeca and took out a small flask. "Sit and eat with me," he said. "One last time."

"Is there something I can do to help you?" Godeca asked.

"No," Simeon replied, apologetically. "This is something that I must do alone."

Godeca picked up the flask and took a swig of the burning, nourishing potion within. "And when must you go?"

"Soon," Simeon replied.

Godeca reached out and took his hand. "Very soon?"

He gave a weary smile. "No. Not _very_ soon."

*

Iblis watched in disgust as Heinrich conducted his ritual of the sacrament. Four of his knights carried the 'Black Ark' on their shoulders while the others formed a great circle around them. Only one of the seven knights who had first thrown in their lot with Heinrich had survived his attack on the royal court at Aachen, but he had gathered many more. Almost a thousand of Germany's knights had sworn themselves to Heinrich and received the sacrament, although fewer than two hundred still lived to fight alongside their master this night.

The Ark, as the knights called it, was a coffin, ancient even by Iblis' standards. It was fashioned from a silvery, crystalline stone that could defeat any blade, hammer or chisel, but in a time immemorial it had been carved; not only worked into the shape of a great casket, but engraved with intricate designs. To the knight, these were merely patterns, but Iblis knew them to be the letters of an archaic script, which spelled out dire warnings against opening the seals.

It was not the fact that Heinrich was ignoring those warnings that revolted Iblis. She _wanted_ all three layers of the seals to be opened and it was the fact that he did not intend to leave any but the outermost seal open that galled her. It had taken her _centuries_ to track down the Casket on this benighted world, only to find it in the hands of a primitive. To add insult to injury, this particular primitive not only knew the Dahak Casket for what it was, he understood its function better than she did. He had an ability to manipulate the energies that it contained which she found to be quite uncanny. She would have been terribly impressed, if it were not such a stumbling block to her own plans for the Casket.

As the knights set their Ark on an altar in the centre of the circle, Iblis stepped forward, in spite of herself, eagerly anticipating the release of the Dahak energies. The sigil in the centre of the Casket's lid was in disarray, indicating that the outer seal was already open, but what Iblis craved was the rush of power that came from opening the inner seal.

Heinrich approached the Casket and the bearers returned to the circle. The knights bent their knee and bowed their heads before the relic; each man laid his right hand on the shoulder of his neighbour to form a circuit.

"Brothers in arms!" Heinrich intoned. "We are gathered to celebrate our unity of purpose, to reaffirm our commitment to the cause and to receive the blessing of the Unholy Dragon who lends his power to our arms." Heinrich stood at one end of the Casket and laid his hands on the stone. He moved his fingers in a specific pattern across the graven symbols and lights danced beneath the surface of the silvery stone.

A deep, resonant note filled the air and the symbols slithered through the stone as through alive. With a quiet hiss, a break opened through the centre of the Casket lid and the two halves slid silently to either side. Inside the casket was a second container, which seemed to be made from glass, or perhaps crystal. The lid of this inner casket was cloudy, but sigils lined this surface also and these were clear, showing something black within.

Iblis held her breath.

Heinrich touched the crystal lid and once more the carvings shifted beneath his fingers. This time, there was no light from the symbols; rather there was an absence, or perhaps an antithesis of light, a sort of dark radiance. It hurt the eyes and wracked the soul merely to behold the black light of Dahak, filtered through the inner seal.

The inner lid opened. It made no sound, indeed, in the moment of opening there was an absence of sound so profound that made the heart ache.

Then there was sound: a harsh, atonal discord of angry voices, all crying out against one another. The black light poured out of the casket, bathing Heinrich in its abhorrent un-glow and transforming his already ghastly demeanour to a truly Satanic aspect. The darkness fell upon his skin and hair and they vanished, but his hooded, shadowed eyes could still be seen where the black light could not reach. A bright shadow stretched out behind him.

This was the power that drove this army; the power of Dahak, that they called the Dragon. Iblis fell to her knees, shuddering in ecstasy as the vile, all-consuming force touched her.

In the centre of the circle, Heinrich plunged his arms into the darkness that squirmed in the Casket. Dark fire licked its way up his arms and arcs and lines of blackness pierced his body through and through. His body swelled as the power flowed into him; he grew taller, his chest became larger, his arms and legs bulged with muscle. He cried out, and that dark illumination spilled from his eyes and his mouth. The power of Dahak rolled out, passing over the knights, over Iblis and out into the camp, causing soldiers to grip their weapons tight and look around eagerly for someone to kill.

The moment passed. Heinrich pulled his hands from the casket and closed the inner lid. The darkness was shut off and the maddening chorus was silenced. The outer lid closed, and the Casket was once more nothing but a chunk of ornately carved, silvery stone which radiated a faint sense of dread and unease.

Heinrich raised his eyes; nothing looked out but the darkness. For the moment, he had grown to almost seven feet in height and his body strained at the buckles of his armour. He stepped away from the Casket and moved to the circle.

"Rise," he commanded, his voice echoing with power.

The knights stood as one, the circuit remaining unbroken. Heinrich approached one of the knights. The man was not special; Heinrich had no particular favourites. Indeed, he did not even know their names, but then, few of the chosen remembered their _own_ name. The Fowler put out his hand and laid his palm on the knight's forehead. At once, the dark force that had entered him began to flow; it sprang from his hand into the knight, then along his arm and into the body of the man to his right. All around the circle it ran, before finally returning to Heinrich himself.

As the energy poured into the knights, they changed and so did Heinrich. He grew smaller again, although he was once more fractionally taller than he had been and slightly heavier in build. The knights in their turn did not grow, rather they shrank, not getting shorter but _thinner_ , the flesh seeming to melt from their bones. The true veterans, those who had received the sacrament the greatest number of times, were emaciated, skin stretched tight over the bones of their faces, eyes deep-sunken in gaping sockets; they looked more dead than alive and few would have taken them for human any more.

 "To your places," Heinrich ordered. "The time has come." He drew his sword and raised it above his head. "The Dragon!" he bellowed, and the roar as his knights responded would have put any firedrake to shame: "THE DRAGON!"

As the knights hurried to their positions, Heinrich approached Iblis, lying coiled in post-orgasmic languor. "Let it free," she begged, breathlessly. "Let all feel its power as I do."

Heinrich's lip curled in a mixture of desire and distaste. "Your lust for destruction sickens even me," he told her.

She gave a low, throaty laugh. "But you will come to me after the battle," she said, confidently.

He closed his eyes and for a moment struggled to resist, but to no avail. "Yes," he breathed, then he turned from her and strode to his lines.

Iblis rose to her feet and gazed after him. After a moment, she paced forward and released the second layer of seals with a few deft, cunning strokes. "You shall have the world, my darling," she promised in a whisper as she moved to follow. "And when you are gone, I shall snuff it out."

*

Simeon left the warmth of his bed and dressed in silence. He donned his armour with the solemnity of a holy warrior and paused to regard himself in the polished bronze mirror. Despite a great deal of punishment, his body was still strong and supple and he looked good in the armour. He would cut an imposing figure if he were to walk abroad like this, especially if he were to abandon all of his restraint in the use of his devices, but he knew that his role in this could not be over-glorious; he must focus all of his energies on the Casket and leave command of the army to Otto. He had sworn, long ago, not to seek his own aggrandizement and he knew that he must stick to that.

With a sigh, he draped his mendicant's robes over the silver-and-green armour and took up his staff. Before he left his chambers – simple, yet still far more than most of the knights in Otto's army enjoyed – he gazed once more on Godeca's sleeping form. Taking care not to wake her, he knelt and slipped a small phial into her hand; it was not much, but it was all he could offer her. After a moment's thought, he drew one of his weapons and laid it the sheets beside her.

He laid a gentle kiss on his lover's fingers, then slipped out.

He had intended to leave the castle unseen, but Otto it seemed had come to know his mind with uncanny accuracy, for her was waiting in the passage to the postern gate.

"You go barefoot, in this weather?" Otto asked by way of greeting.

"For this business, I must keep my feet on the ground," Simeon assured him. He smiled, as though at a private joke. "I shall do what must be done to stop Heinrich; I must trust you to keep him busy here. I can take the fight out of his army, but I can not wage a one-man war. You _must_ hold, Otto."

"We shall hold," Otto promised, all trace of his doubts erased from his handsome face.

"I have one more favour to ask," Simeon said.

"I am in your debt a hundred times over," Otto assured him. "Ask anything, save only my family, and it shall be yours."

"And if I asked for your kingdom?"

"You may have all that remains of it, and welcome," Otto assured him, earnestly.

"Well, I want it not," Simeon replied. "I ask only that you care for the girl, Godeca, if I do not return. She will not be a burden on you."

"Of course," Otto promised. "She shall be as a sister to me."

Simeon bowed his head, gratefully. "Thank you, Otto; that is a great comfort to me."

"God be with you, Simeon," Otto said.

Simeon chuckled, it was a sound Otto had often heard, usually when Simeon was speaking of God. He was not sure that he liked the implications of that laugh, but his need was such that he could not afford to question the sorcerer too closely.

"I am sure of it," Simeon said. "I trust he will find time to assist you here, also."

Otto shook his head. "You are either a heathen or a heretic, but bless you anyway," he sighed.

He drew back the bolt and opened the postern. Simeon nodded once and then disappeared into the night; Otto closed the gate behind him.

 

*

 

Godeca woke to the sound of distant thunder. She knew at once that Simeon had gone and the hard shape of the phial in her hand told her that he did not expect to return. She sat up, slowly, and her hand touched the grip of the weapon on her pillow. She picked up the strange device and smiled at the thought of her lover's care for her, and his naivety. If the people here had learned to forgive his power, a humble serving woman who used this weapon would soon find herself on the pyre; she would sooner rely on her short sword. Nevertheless, when she had dressed she did tuck the weapon into her girdle, where it would be hidden by her cloak.

The thunder grew louder, but there was no flicker of lightning. Godeca swallowed hard and went to the narrow window. Night was falling – for as much difference as it made beneath this eternal pall of thunderclouds – but in the dim twilight, she could see the source of the thunder: seventy-thousand feet and sixth-thousand hooves, all driving at a steady pace for the walls of Castle Wolfenstein. Their armour gleamed, darkly and their weapons had an evil sparkle; both mail and blades were forged by Iblis' unholy arts and had more strength than any earthly weapon.

Godeca turned and ran from the window, snatching up her bow on the way to the door. Like her sword, the bow had been taken from the body of one of the many, many men slain during the war; it was the third she had taken, and the best. Simeon had not wanted her to go armed, but she had known that she would need to fight; if there had been a smith remaining to make the adjustments, she would have taken the dead man's mail as well.

Godeca hurried to the wall. She was not the only woman there; after the first year, many wives had become desperate enough to take up arms beside their men and now almost a quarter of the force was made up of women and old men. A few arrows were already winging their way towards the enemy ranks, although they were still well out of range.

At the centre of the wall, Otto stood so that his troops could see him. "Hold your fire!" he ordered. "Save your arrows."

That was good advice. Godeca was less shy than many of salvaging arrows from the quivers – and bodies – of the dead, but her own quiver was only half full. Otto's army probably did not have one arrow for every man in Heinrich's legion and they would be more than merely lucky to make a kill with every arrow, let alone a _unique_ kill.

Heinrich's force came on, not stopping for their leader to address their enemy. Heinrich had always made a point of blustering before, but clearly he no longer cared; there was little he could do to make this sad remnant of an army more afraid of him.

Godeca waited until the last possible moment before she pulled the bowstring from her pouch and strung the bow; she could not afford for the string to get wet. She nocked an arrow to the string and drew it back to her ear. In the past year she had grown skilled with a bow and the arrow found its way cleanly to the throat of one of the riders. He barely faltered, but it would kill him eventually; before he reached the wall at least.

Other arrows flew now, some struck riders, some horses; some failed on armour and some missed their marks altogether, although those that overshot would almost certainly find the flesh of some footman behind the first line. A dozen missiles flew for Heinrich himself, where he rode at the centre of his line, but none pierced his mail.

A great roar rose up from the riders and was echoed by the footmen: "The Dragon!" The sound of the battle-cry struck the defenders like a wall of terror and the legion surged forward. Axes were raised and swords unsheathed, but not an arrow came in reply to the shots of the defenders.

For a moment it seemed that Heinrich had been gripped by some final madness, that his army would break themselves uselessly upon the wall, but then the lead rider swung his axe and great chunks of masonry flew from the castle wall. The line struck and the knights hewed at the wall as though it were a wattle fence and not a span-thick bastion of stone. Heinrich himself slashed at the iron-bound gate with his sword, setting up a flurry of sparks and splinters.

"Ready in the courtyard!" Otto called. "Stand ready."

On the wall, the archers stood, loosing arrow after arrow down upon the enemy. The knights looked like pincushions, for only a few archers knew, as Godeca did, that a single shaft could kill them, however long it took them to realise it.

The western wall began to shake.

"Back!" Otto called. "Get back."

On the end of the line, Godeca was able to flee the collapse of the west side of the outer wall; many of the archers were not so lucky. Some few followed her, others made it to the safety of the gatehouse with Otto or fled past him to the east, before that in turn fell. Most toppled helplessly among the rubble. Dozens of riders and horses were crushed beneath the falling stones, but their fellows were only too ready to leap over corpse and wreckage to reach their enemies. The surviving archers struggled to end the tide, but then the great gate burst asunder and Heinrich thundered in, tall and powerful, sword held aloft, wreathed in shadows and blood like a pagan god of slaughter.

 

*

 

In his desire to make an end of his long campaign, Heinrich had taken every warrior in his service to the castle wall, leaving his camp all-but undefended. Only four knights remained to guard the Black Ark, but they were four of Heinrich's élite and they were quite sufficient to hold off any enemy who could approach them unseen or to bear the Ark away if a larger force threatened them.

A rustling in the bushes attracted the attention of one of the knights. In the time before he became a slave to the Black Ark's power and Heinrich's will, he had been Reinhardt von Mecklenberg. He had had a wife and two children, but now his son had died in Heinrich's service and where his wife and daughter were he neither knew nor cared; bloodshed was his entire life. His armour jingled softly as he made his way forward with drawn sword. He raised his blade and reached out to move the foliage aside.

The other knights were focused on their own watch and so registered the flash only from the corners of their eyes. They all turned, however, and saw the body of their comrade thrown through the air to lie twitching in the bracken on the far side of the clearing. They ran towards the source of the attack and a blast of white-hot fire struck from behind them, catching a second warrior – one Berthold von Eberech, whose dream of priesthood had ended when he fell in love and married and whose dream of marriage had ended when he was touched by the power of Dahak – in the back of the neck and killing him, instantly.

The surviving knights turned as Simeon emerged from the shadows, the Dragon's rage filling them. The man who had once been Hans von Reinhold – a brute and a bully, but a man nonetheless, which was not something that could be said of him now – charged and was thrown down by the wall of light that Simeon threw from his palm, but the other approached more cautiously. When the sorcerer turned to deal with the obvious threat, the second knight ran wide and struck from the flank; Simeon barely turned in time and brought up his staff to ward off the blow. The knight – who had once answered to the name of Albrecht von Scharnhorst and devoted himself to the study of arms and battle – expected his sword to cut clean through the staff, but it did not. In fact, Simeon barely flinched before the blow, and he thrust the sword away which such force that Albrecht stumbled.

Simeon beat the butt of the staff on the ground and the top seemed to burst into flame. He took a quarterstaff grip and when Albrecht attacked again, he parried with considerable skill. Albrecht was a consummate warrior, but the sorcerer was his equal and, even as the blade touched the staff, Albrecht staggered, feeling his unnatural strength ebb. The flaming staff tip slashed at Albrecht's face and he stumbled back, giving Simeon space to raise his hand towards the knight. A crystal in the centre of the sorcerer's palm flashed white and Albrecht was hurled away.

Hans von Reinhold came back to the fray with a soft tread, hoping to surprise the attacker, but heavy boots could not be that silent. Even as von Reinhold's sword was raised for the kill, Simeon whirled the staff under his arm and thrust backwards. Where the burning tip touched, the mail melted away like butter, tabard and tunic caught alight and von Reinhold's flesh was charred from sternum to spine.

All was quiet as Simeon approached the Casket. He could feel the power that had invigorated his foes, pulsing from the darkness behind the final seal. It sought a hold over his heart, but it washed straight through him and out into the Earth through the bare soles of his feet.

"Oh no, Dahak," he chuckled. He planted the staff in the ground and rolled up his sleeves. "I know you, but you have no power over me." He touched the sigils on the great, stone lid and the seal slid back into place. The Casket closed once more. Then he touched the disarranged symbols of the outermost seal. The carved shapes slid across the surface of the stone beneath his fingertips, blurring together, intertwining with one another as he moved them through the convoluted path that brought them back together.

As the last line slid into place, the seals all glowed. For a moment, a brilliant white light filled the clearing, and when it faded the darkness did not seem so deep.

Simeon gave a grim smile, placed a small sphere on top of the Casket and walked away.

Albrecht von Scharnhorst hauled himself awkwardly to his feet. He knew that his right arm had been broken in the fall. He felt weak, all the unnatural strength now gone from him. The rage and hate that had consumed him also subsided, and for the first time in over a year her felt old emotions coming back to him: Fear of death, sorrow for his slain comrades. In wonderment, he took a step towards the Casket.

The sphere swivelled towards him, untouched by any hand, and a short burst of light struck the ground at his feet. Albrecht was no fool and he took the warning; he turned and left the camp, never to return.

 

*

 

In the castle, the effects of Simeon's work were felt almost at once. Those of the élite who had been wounded suddenly became aware of those injuries and slumped to the ground. Knights overborne by the strength of Heinrich's chosen were suddenly able to fight back and, without the superhuman strength lent them by the Black Ark, the withered arms of the older knights were too weak even to raise their axes.

But it was not enough to turn the tide. The defenders were still outnumbered almost six to one, the attackers were still better fed and equipped, and there was still Heinrich. The old king still swung his sword with unfaltering, inhuman strength and even though he knew that his knights were lost, he saw that the day – or rather the night – was his. He turned to the gatehouse and saw Otto, locked in combat with one of his footmen; he bellowed in challenge and charged up the last remaining stair.

Otto struck down his opponent; the man fell and behind him stood a wall of steel.

Otto gazed up at the thing that had once been his father and felt a wave of nausea overcome him. As he struggled not to vomit, Heinrich lifted his sword; the killing blow would fall and Otto could do nothing to stop it. In his mind's eye, he saw the same sword raised above him at the feast in Aachen, and this time, Simeon was not there to prevent its fall.

Away in the night, a horn sounded. Heinrich looked away and his sword wavered.

With a thunder of hooves, a body of knights rode out of the darkness to the east and ploughed into the flank of Heinrich's army. Their spears rose and fell, stabbing down at the footmen, who struggled to turn and face this new enemy. Then from the west came the whir of arrows in flight as a force of archers fell upon that flank.

"What is this?" Heinrich demanded. "Who would dare oppose me!"

Otto turned to the battlements. In the midst of the mounted knights he saw a banner, half in shadow, but unmistakably bearing the figure of a wyvern. Heinrich must have seen it also, for his eyes widened and he cried out: "Wessex! The Anglish bitch!"

With a cry of rage, Otto swept up his sword and smote upon his father. "You have ravaged my land!" the King cried. "You have slaughtered my people! You have turned my knights to black sorcery and murder! But you will not speak so of my wife!"

Heinrich parried desperately as Otto pounded blow after blow upon his defences, until the sword was shaken from Heinrich's hand. Now it was Otto's turn to lift his sword for the killing stroke.

"So it ends!" Otto declared, but Heinrich was far from beaten and he lashed out with his hobnailed boot. The kick struck Otto in the midriff and knocked him flying. He landed hard against the battlements and his sword fell from the parapet to lie beside Heinrich's.

Heinrich advanced on the wounded monarch, ripping a spear from the body of one of Otto's archers as he came. "Do you think I can not kill you without a sword?" he demanded.

Otto tried to struggle to his feet, but he felt a sharp pain in his chest and his lower body refused to obey him.

Heinrich held the spear levelled, not bothering with a dramatic coup de grace; he could see that Otto was already finished. "When you have to kill, kill," he said. "Don't _talk_."

"Sound advice."

Heinrich turned and Simeon struck him in the chest with his burning staff. Heinrich roared in pain; he dropped the spear, arms twitching wildly. Simeon leaned all his weight on the weapon, forcing it through the melting armour and into the dead king's flesh; incongruously, the flesh seemed harder to pierce than the mail.

"You can not destroy me!" Heinrich wailed. With a titanic effort, he brought his left hand up and grasped the staff. "The power of Dahak fills me. I am _invincible_!" And slowly, but surely, Simeon was forced backwards as the staff was withdrawn from Heinrich's flesh.

With his final strength, Otto rose up behind Heinrich and thrust the spear into his back. The blow was like a gnat's sting to the monster that Heinrich had become, but as he twitched away from that tiny pain, he lost his grip on the staff and Simeon plunged it deep into the black, corrupted remnant of his heart.

The power that had been invested in Heinrich's broken body flowed out like a wave of shadows, breaking over Otto and Simeon before washing out across the battlefield, leaving all whom it touched feeling cold and weak. At that, the fight went out of that whole, dark legion; they threw down their weapons and either fled the field or gave themselves up.

Simeon walked over to Otto and saw at once that the king was dying.

"Your Majesty," he said, softly, "the battle is over. You have won."

"But at such a cost," Otto sighed; the effort of that breath hurt. "Well, I go now to answer for my conduct. I hope that the Lord will think well of me."

"It is not your time," Simeon said, slipping a hand inside his robe and retrieving a flat, round talisman that filled his right palm. "You have so much to do, still."

"I fear that even your power can not save me now," Otto admitted. "There is a rib pressing on my lungs and I fear that my back is broken.

"Have a little faith," Simeon suggested. He held out his hand and the talisman glowed. Its light played across Otto's broken body and the king felt some force travelling through his flesh. His ribs suddenly ached and his lungs burned; he felt a sharp twinge in the small of his back and the flesh of his legs prickled. Then his entire body was gripped by a deep and comforting warmth; he laid his head down and closed his eyes.

Footfalls approached behind Simeon. "Does he live, magician?"

Simeon stood, turned and bowed before Queen Edith. "He lives and is whole, your Majesty," he assured her. "He sleeps now and, as he sleeps, his mind will heal."

"Thank you, Simeon," Edith said. "We are in your debt. If there is anything that you need, you have only to ask."

"You are very gracious, your Majesty," he replied. "If it is not too much trouble, I will need provisions for travel, a cart and horses and money for supplies. I have a very long journey ahead of me."

"You shall have all that you need," Edith promised. "I have brought a physic with me; will you let him tend your injuries?"

"My…" Simeon raised his right hand and saw a charred claw. The reaction between the power-source of his staff and the Dahak energies locked within Heinrich had been explosive and the staff had detonated in his grasp. His hands were burned and the crystal in the palm of his gauntlet had cracked; a pain in his head suggested that he might also have facial burns. "I will recover," he assured her, "but there is one more thing that I must do before I can rest."

"Do you require aid?"

"This I must do alone, your Majesty, but I ask this: Send your men to Heinrich's camp and find the Black Ark; you will know it when you see it. Guard it, but do not approach until either I come for it, or send someone in my place. If I am gone more than thirty days, the magic protecting it will fade. When that happens, you must have it taken to a ship and then out to sea. Cast it into the deeps…and pray that it never returns."

 

*

 

Iblis fled along the battlements and cursed her own curiosity. She had followed Heinrich for the pleasure of seeing him kill and maim and now she would pay for her voyeurism. Her plans were in tatters and she was forced to run and it was, as usual, all _his_ fault.

Her temple throbbed; she turned to run the other way, but it was too late.

"Iblis!"

She spun to face him. "Ormazdh, you…" she began. She stopped, then continued in their native tongue. "Or…whatever you're calling yourself these days."

"Simeon," he replied. "You are looking…lovely."

Iblis shot him a withering glower. "You look battered," she sneered. "You really should take more care."

"It's over, Iblis."

"It is _never_ over, Ormazdh. My master is still out there, somewhere," she reminded him, "and you can not destroy the Casket; you know that as well as I."

Simeon scowled. "Anything that can be created can be destroyed," he assured her, "and I will have time now."

"I will stop you," Iblis promised.

"I don't think so." Simeon drew a long knife.

Iblis stared at the blade in horror. "No!" she protested. "Ormazdh, no. You can't; not after all we have been through together."

"You have brought me nothing but strife!"

"Once, it was not so," Iblis corrected, slyly.

"I was a different person then."

"Weren't we all."

"Enough," Simeon said. "I am sorry, Iblis, but you made this necessary when you chose your path." He raised the blade. "Goodbye, old friend."

Iblis' eyes blazed white. "Goodbye!" she hissed. She raised her hand, fingers together, and a beam of energy stabbed out from her shol'va's salute.

Simeon twisted aside, but he cried out in pain as the beam punched through the right hand side of his chest.

Iblis swaggered over to him and kicked the knife out of his hand. She crouched at his side, leaning her weight on his punctured lung as she bent to kiss him. "You were always soft," she chuckled. "I will not share your mistake." She stood up and levelled her hand at the centre of his head. "Goodbye, dear Ormazdh."

Energy leaped from her weapon, but it was not the yellow-gold particle stream of the salute, but a sinuous, blue-white arc of accelerated electrons; and it did not come _from_ the weapon, Simeon realised, but struck it from behind him. The ring exploded in a shower of sparks and the zat'nik'tel charge squirmed through Iblis' body. She screamed in pain and fury, staggered back, tripped over the battlements and fell out of sight.

Godeca ran along the parapet and knelt at her lover's side. "Simeon!" she cried.

" _Ka'ma hashak!_ " Simeon wheezed, blood bubbling from his wound as he spoke.

"Simeon?" Godeca asked, frightened.

With a visible effort, Simeon calmed himself. "I am sorry, Godeca. I am angry with myself; you have done very well indeed."

"I will fetch you a physic," she offered.

"No need," he replied. "I am dying."

"No!"

Simeon chuckled, then winced in pain. "No-one on this world can possibly help me," he assured her. "But I am satisfied; it is done."

"I will die without you," Godeca said, again. In a few hundred years time, a woman might offer such sentiments from a romantic desire to pine for her lost love; in a thousand years, every schoolgirl would spout it as a meaningless platitude. Godeca, on the other hand, was a simple woman from a simple time; when she said that she could not live without Simeon, she spoke only the literal truth.

She held up the phial he had left her. "How long?" she asked, tearfully.

"A year," he replied, quietly. His voice was fading, along with his life.

"Your magic has kept me alive, Simeon, staving off my disease. You can continue to do so and _your_ life will be saved as well."

"I don't…what do you mean?" Simeon gasped.

Godeca bent over him. "Live in me," she whispered. "I _know_ what you are, my love. I know that together we can live, where apart, we will surely die."

"How…?"

"Would you have loved a fool?"

His chuckle was weak now; he was almost gone. "Kiss me, my love."

She bent her head and pressed her mouth against Simeon's. She felt a pressure between her lips and a burning in her throat, then she laid Simeon's head on the cold, hard stone of the parapet and kissed his brow. " _Good bye, my love_ ," she whispered, in a voice that was two voices, and her eyes flashed with a pure, white flame.

 

*

 

After Otto regained consciousness, and after he and the Queen had assured one another of their continuing health and…vigour, the royal couple surveyed the dead of both sides and the prisoners from Heinrich's army.

"What of those who fled?" Edith asked.

"Let them flee," Otto replied. "I shall declare an amnesty, for we shall need all hands to rebuild our kingdom. Besides, we would need the aid of your brother's army to hunt them and – with all due respect and gratitude to brother Edmund – I think it would be a mistake to encourage too permanent an Anglian presence. Nonetheless, if there are any in the force who wish for land of their own, we may well need them as well. He took a heavy toll of our noblemen."

A young archer came hurrying over. "Your Majesty!" he called. "Come quickly."

They followed the young man to the chapel, where the most noble of their dead had been laid out in winding cloths. He led them to one side, where a tall figure with dark hair lay at rest.

"Simeon!" Otto exclaimed. "Who has done this!"

"Iblis."

The King and Queen looked to the speaker, a young woman clad in Simeon's robe. Otto thought that she was familiar, but there was a fierce determination in her eyes that he did not recognise.

"Godeca?" he asked.

The young woman curtseyed. "Your Majesties," she said. "Master Simeon pursued Heinrich's adviser, the witch, Iblis; she was struck down, but slew him in turn. Her body lies by the eastern wall."

"I am sorry for your loss," Otto told her, sincerely, although a part of him was relieved to have escaped a debt owed to a magician. A Christian King would be forgiven much in time of war that would see him anathematised in peace. "He asked that we provide for you," he added.

"There is no need. He has provided," she assured him. "He asked that I take the Black Ark away from here," she went on. "It is vital that it not be allowed to fall into Iblis' hands once more."

Otto was baffled and he wondered if the girl were quite right in the head after her loss. "But you said that Iblis was dead?"

"I said that her body lay by the wall," Godeca corrected. She chuckled, and Otto shivered at the sound of Simeon's laugh from the girl's throat. "I leave tonight," she announced. "I leave you with a blessing on your house. We shall not meet again."

"Godspeed," Edith wished her.

Again, Godeca chuckled. "Oh, indubitably," she agreed.

**Author's Note:**

> Heinrich der Vogler (876-936) was Duke of Saxony (912-936) and King of Germany (919-936) and the founder of the mediaeval German Empire. Der Vogler means 'the fowler'; according to legend, Heinrich, a keen huntsman, was trapping birds when word came that the late King had declared him heir to the Crown of Germany.
> 
> His son, Otto the Great (912-973), succeeded as Duke and King in 936 and was – arguably – the first Holy Roman Emperor (from 962). Otto's first wife, Edith of Wessex (910-946), was the granddaughter of Alfred the Great and, while Otto was eventually succeeded by his son by a second marriage, he was buried beside Edith at the cathedral of Magdeburg when he died.
> 
>  Heinrich died of old age and did not disappear in a final battle in 936, only to reappear in 941 as the unholy commander of a legion of the damned, but while frequently more interesting than fiction, in this case, history would get in the way of my story.


End file.
